


A Very Frosted Christmas

by ISeeFire



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: :D, Angst, Christmas fic, F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins, Fluff, It's Always Angst With Me, Oneshot, You Should Expect It By Now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21939580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISeeFire/pseuds/ISeeFire
Summary: Bilba Baggins, only recently named the new Jack Frost, is having a rather bad day. Unfortunately for her, her moods tend to affect the weather.Unfortunately for everyone else, it happens to be Christmas Eve.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Frerin, Female Bilbo/Frerin
Comments: 26
Kudos: 236





	A Very Frosted Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Slightly Early Christmas! :D This is my Christmas fic. It is angsty, cause it’s me, but also fluffy! :D I hope you enjoy and that you all have a wonderful holiday season!

Bilba sat on the edge of the dresser, arms crossed, and did her very best to glare Gandalf into waking up.

Honestly, his job was at least _partly_ dependent on her happiness, wasn’t it? How dare he sleep through her anguish?

The edge of the dresser was cutting into the bottom of her legs so, with a huff, she crossed them and propped her bottom foot on the knob of one of the drawers. It allowed her to lift the back of her leg just enough to relieve the pressure and created a very pretty drape of her dress across her bare legs.

It _was_ a pretty dress too, so certain relations who would remain unnamed could just stuff it. It was made from heaps and heaps of lace and gauze that fell in uneven layers of pale blue, white and lavender down to a handkerchief hem that swished and swirled quite dramatically about her knees. The collar ran in a very flattering line across her bust, if she did say so herself, before ending in two loops that draped on her upper arms and served no purpose whatsoever aside from looking pretty.

She’d added a silver snowflake necklace, earrings and bracelets, all of which served to bring out the sparkling, silver streaks in her hair – currently elaborately arranged in waves and loose curls and stuff – and also brought out the silver flecks in her eyes. She’d even gone so far as to add makeup, which she rarely did, purple eyeshadow and a plum lipstick and she looked _good_ , damn it.

She looked her _best_ because a certain someone she’d been dating had been acting extra nervous of late and had told her he wanted to talk to her when she got back, and she just _knew_ it could only mean one thing.

She’d spent the two weeks she’d been gone fantasizing about the moment he would get down on one knee and she’d practiced her reactions until she’d explored and considered every way it could _ever_ take place. 

Every.

Possible.

Way.

Except _one_ apparently.

Suddenly annoyed at Gandalf’s absolute refusal to obey her mental commands at him to _wake up_ already, she pointed a finger and sent a blast of ice-cold air at him.

Gandalf let out a shout and sat straight up in bed, covers crumpled about the long nightgown he liked to wear because he was tragically lacking in any basic sense of fashion. For heaven’s sake, he wore a nightcap with a pom-pom on the end with it. Who did that? What if there was a fire and he had to go running outside without getting a chance to change? It’d just be…embarrassing.

He’d seen her and was now staring at her in confusion, still only partly awake. Bilba arched an eyebrow and carefully schooled her expression into one of total innocence. 

“Bilba,” Gandalf said finally. “I see you’ve returned from your trip. Back to nipping noses now, are we?”

“I do not nip noses,” Bilba said shortly, tossing her hair back over one shoulder. “That was my predecessor as you well know, and I’m sure the only nose he nips anymore is that snow queen he shacked up with.”

Gandalf looked amused. “I’m fairly certain he married her.”

“Yes,” Bilba said slowly and carefully, “and then they shacked up. And now I’m in charge and have to let everyone call me by a stupid name because apparently ‘Jack Frost’ is more interesting than Bilba Baggins.”

She used air quotes as she said the name, to punctuate just how stupid she thought the whole thing was.

“It does fit the lyrics of the song better,” Gandalf said in amusement as he shoved the blankets away and climbed out of the bed. Bilba pushed off from the dresser and landed with barely a sound on the thick rug that dominated his floor. It was red, green and white and sported images of reindeer, candy canes, and all manner of assorted Christmas…things.

“I hate your rug,” Bilba announced, even as she sank her toes into the plush fibers. “Why are Christmas colors red and green anyway? It’s _winter_ , Gandalf. The colors should be blue and white and such. Winter colors.”

She waved a hand at the rug and watched in satisfaction as the colors and pattern shifted until it showcased a proper winter wonderland, complete with snowflakes, bare trees and a frozen pond.

“No figure skaters?” Gandalf asked, bemused. “That’s a fairly traditional winter activity, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’re very much mistaken,” Bilba countered, crossing her arms in annoyance. “In fact, I’ve decided ice skating is much too dangerous a sport. From now on, I intend to refuse to allow water to freeze enough to allow it.”

“Do you now?” Gandalf idly grabbed a robe, white and red because no one in the entire stupid village wanted to accept that other colors existed. She watched as the old man headed toward the shuttered windows, and her eyes widened slightly in alarm. With a huff, she whirled about and pretended to be avidly studying one of the many letters or pieces of artwork tacked to the wall. Gandalf always had an endless number of them, written and drawn by children from all over the world who simply adored the fact that, once a year, a total stranger broke into their homes to leave them gifts. Apparently, the promise of free stuff covered over a multitude of felonies.

She heard Gandalf pull open the shutters, and then give what was clearly an overly melodramatic sigh. “Are you sure you’ll all right, my dear?”

Bilba spun on one heel and glared at the whirling snow outside the window as if it had personally offended her, which it most certainly had. As if in answer, a section suddenly cleared directly in front of the glass, though everything around it was still a sheet of howling wind and ice. “It’s a storm, Gandalf,” she said shortly. “They happen sometimes. It’s not _always_ my fault.”

“I never said it was.” He closed the shutters and turned to face her. “But, I also know that, on occasion, they can reflect your mood.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bilba said airily. “My mood is perfectly fine, I’ll have you know.” Her throat clogged unexpectedly, and her vision started to mist. She inhaled sharply and put her nose in the air. “Whatever. I don’t care anymore.”

She marched to the windows and threw them open to a storm that was now howling twice as badly as before. The wind and cold barely affected her, or Gandalf for that matter, but she felt a sting of guilt at the way the letters and pictures on the wall were suddenly being ripped right off his wall and swirling around. Gandalf lunged to grab them and, with a sigh, Bilba stepped out of the window and allowed herself to dissolve into a cloud of sparkling dust.

***

“Are you planning to return my chair at some point, or should I simply place an order for another one?”

Bilba’s only response was to lean back further in the chair, until the leather and gears for the wheels creaked in protest. Seriously, who needed a chair this big? It was massive, made from solid leather, which probably freaked out the reindeer now that she thought about it, and she sank so far into the seat it was almost impossible to get her legs up to brace her feet on the desk.

 _Almost_ impossible.

She was nothing if not dedicated, even if it meant she was leaned back at a truly uncomfortable angle and was limited to mostly staring at the ceiling.

It was a nice ceiling, all things considered. She was idly disappointed that no one had bothered to carve it with pretty, albeit entirely unnecessary, Christmas themed images that no one would ever see without getting a serious crick in their neck.

Thranduil cleared his throat loudly, and Bilba heaved a sigh. “Go away.”

“I can’t,” Thranduil said. “It’s the day before Christmas and I have things to do, which means I need my desk.” He was silent a moment. “The desk you happen to currently be occupying.”

A slightly bitter smile crossed Bilba’s face. “Are you suggesting I’m in the way?”

The wooden shutters in the room rocked violently, wind from the storm raging outside threatening to rip them from their hinges.

“Bilba–” Thranduil said, voice suddenly softer. “Are you quite all right?”

Bilba laughed. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? It’s a _storm_.” She dropped her feet off the desk and sat up. “And it’s not like you care anyway. You just want it to stop so it won’t get in the way of your precious Christmas, isn’t that it?”

Thranduil’s eyebrows drew together. “Bilba–”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Sudden anger surged through her and Bilba jumped to her feet, hands clenched in fists at her sides. She pointed a finger at him as cold air swirled, sending her hair blowing about her face and her dress twisting around her legs. “All you care about is getting me to behave! I’m sick of it!”

The air swirling in a funnel about her blew outward. The stacks of paper on Thranduil’s desk burst out in all directions and his precious chair tipped over entirely and skidded across the floor to hit the wall with a bang.

Bilba stared at it all, wide-eyed. Thranduil opened his mouth to speak, his own eyes wide, but Bilba didn’t give him a chance.

For the second time that day she dissolved into a swirl of simmering dust only, this time, she decided, she wouldn’t go to Thranduil’s office or Gandalf’s or home or anywhere in between.

She was just in the way, so she’d go where she couldn’t bother anyone. 

***

Frerin whistled idly under his breath as he worked on the leather strap spread out on the table in front of him. Once he’d finished carving snowflakes, candy canes and bells it would go into rotation as a new set of reins for the reindeer. Practice reins, unlikely to ever be used on Christmas which meant they didn’t _technically_ have to be carved, but Frerin felt if something was worth doing, it was worth doing right.

His back was beginning to cramp from being bent over the table so long, so he took a moment to set his tools down and straighten, putting his hands in the small of his back and arching to stretch out tight muscles.

His bed, the only other furnishing in his room besides the table and a dresser, caught his eye and he wondered if he could get a quick nap in before finishing. Thorin generally wanted them to work in the stables to avoid this very thing but, surely, if he was quick enough he could get in a nap and still finish soon enough to avoid getting caught sleeping on the job.

He set his tools down and started to slide off the bench, only to stop mid-move as he heard the sound of footsteps from outside his room.

A moment later the door banged open and Frerin found himself facing his brother, sister, nephews, Thranduil, and an assortment of other elves and family members.

None of them looked particularly happy.

Thorin had his arms crossed and was glowering. Granted, he usually glowered, especially at this time of year, but it seemed far deeper and more intense than usual.

Frerin’s eyes narrowed in question. “Is there a problem?”

Thorin started to answer but, before he could, Dis stepped forward with a sigh. “Was it really necessary to upset Bilba?” she asked.

“And did you need to do it on _Christmas Eve_?” his youngest nephew added before cutting off at a growl from Thorin.

Frerin shook his head. “Bilba? What’s wrong with Bilba?” As far as he knew she was off visiting her family. She’d been excited about it. Her parents had passed away years ago, leaving her to be passed amongst family members who, for the most part, treated her like a burden. This visit was the first time she’d be going back as the new Jack Frost and she’d gleefully told him how they’d be so proud, and how she’d finally be accepted for the first time.

“The problem,” Thorin growled, stepping forward, “is you chose to get involved with her, and now millions of children could wake up in disappointment because you couldn’t hold off your spat until tomorrow.”

Frerin’s jaw tightened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Bilba and I haven’t been in a fight. I haven’t seen her since she left.” He’d been counting the days for her to come back in fact and, as far as he knew, she wasn’t due for a few more days. Long, agonizing days.

Originally, he’d thought to let her focus on her family and then propose when she got back. The stress of waiting for her to return, however, had been near unbearable and he was deeply regretting having not just talked to her

There was silence from the group in front of him. Then Thorin stepped forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. Bewildered, Frerin didn’t resist as he was marched out from his room, down the hall and to the door that would lead outside.

Before they even reached it, Frerin could hear the sound of wind howling just outside and a cold feeling of dread settled into his gut. He tugged free of his brother’s hand, strode forward and wrenched the door open.

An ice-cold blast slammed into him with all the force of a solid wall. Outside, he could see nothing but howling white, filled with flittering flecks of ice that pelted against him like miniature hailstones. The strength of the storm stole his breath away and sent his heart plummeting to his feet.

“Bilba,” he whispered.

Then, before anyone could stop him, he did the only thing he could think _to_ do.

He ran straight out the door, and into the raging storm.

***

Bilba was dancing.

Sort of.

She sped easily across the top of the snow and ice, magic sending her along as if she wore skates or skies strapped to her feet. She moved slowly, spinning and twisting as the urge took her, barely aware of the storm around her.

She leaned back, arms open and head back, and closed her eyes. The wind seemed to gather under her, buoying her as if phantom arms held her.

Maybe it was better this way, she thought. Phantom arms couldn’t drop her. Snow could never leave her, and ice couldn’t cut her. She could just…stay here and…

“Bilba!”

The sound was faint, carried by magic and wind from somewhere far away. It wasn’t even something she heard so much as it was a perception, the barest recognition that something was different, standing out in what was more or less the static shriek of ice and wind.

“Bilba!”

Her eyes opened.

“Bilba!”

Bilba snapped up straight and her entire body froze. breath caught in her throat. “No,” she whispered.

“Bilba!” The voice sounded frantic, and also faint, weak.

Fading.

“Frerin.” Bilba whispered, and then again, but this time a shriek of pure fear. “Frerin!”

Then she was gone, leaving nothing but the storm in her wake.

***

It happened so quick Frerin almost didn’t register it.

One second he was down on one knee, arms crossed over his chest and shivering so violently he thought his body would simply shatter and fall to pieces around him. He’d run out in a pair of close-fitting trousers, fur lined knee boots, and a fur lined tunic and vest but he might as well have been naked for all it was helping him. He’d lost feeling in his extremities almost at once and every breath felt as if he’d inhaled knives into his lungs.

Something swirled around him, pressing in against his body as if it were hugging him, and then the world dissolved about him.

A second later he found himself on his knees in his room, a roaring fire blazing in the fireplace.

“Frerin?” Bilba dropped to her knees in front of him, bracketing his face with her hands. Her voice was shrill with panic and her eyes were wider than he’d ever seen. “Frerin?”

She vanished, and when she reappeared she had blankets and a cup of steaming coffee in her hands. She wrapped the blankets around him and pressed the cup into his hand. “Are you okay?” She sounded near tears, running her hands up and down his arms to try and warm them. “What were you thinking? What were you doing?”

“Looking for you,” Frerin managed to grit out through chattering teeth. Feeling was beginning to return to his limbs, and he grit his teeth against the pins and needles feeling. For not the first time, he was grateful that dwarves ran so hot as it’d protected him somewhat outside and was allowing him to recover twice as fast now.

He became aware of Bilba kneeling in front of him, hands clenched into fists on her thighs and head down. She inhaled shakily, and he saw her lift a hand to wipe at her face. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I just seem to be screwing everything up today.” She pushed to her feet and clasped her hands in front of her. “I won’t bother you, or anyone else, anymore. I promise. I’ll just…go somewhere else.”

She started to walk past him. Frerin’s heart seized in his chest and he suddenly knew without a doubt that if he lost her now he’d never see her again.

With a curse he dropped the cup, shoved the blankets off and lunged forward to grab her hand. Feeling had mostly returned, but not entirely, so the move was less than pleasant but he grit his teeth and tightened his grip on her hand. “Wait. Please.”

***

Bilba tensed.

“It’s fine,” she said shakily. “I get it. You don’t have to say anything.”

He grunted and then pulled to his feet, towering over her. “What’s going on, Sweetheart?”

Bilba flinched at the term of endearment. She tried to pull away, but he simply caught her other hand and pulled her closer. She could just vanish if she wanted, just dissolve and melt away but she knew she if she did…that would be it.

Just…it.

It was stupid because it was _already_ over and staying or going wouldn’t change anything, and yet…

And yet.

“Come on.” Frerin led her over to the table, put his hands on her hips and easily lifted her to sit on the edge. He hooked his hands under her knees and tugged her forward until her legs were on either side of his hips, planted his hands on the table so he was bracketing her and leaned in to look her in the eyes.

Well, he tried to look her in the eyes anyway. Bilba refused to meet his gaze, choosing instead of focus to her left on nothing in particular. “I get it,” she whispered again. She put her hands flat on his chest as if holding him back though she applied no pressure. “Please just…don’t.”

He lightly nudged the side of her head with his own. “Don’t what? Talk to me, Sweetheart.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. Her vision watered and she clenched her jaw. She really didn’t want to cry.

Frerin reached up to lightly wipe away an errant tear tracking down her face, and then gently took her chin in his hand and tugged her face around to face him. As soon as she did, he leaned in and, ever so lightly, kissed her.

That was followed by a second kiss, and then a third. Bilba’s eyes slid closed of their own accord and she tentatively slid her hands over his where they were still planted on the table. After a few seconds she started to work her fingers up his forearms, over his biceps and shoulders until she finally wound them around his neck.

He put an arm around her, splaying his fingers across her back and pressed forward, arching her back until she had to put one arm down to brace on her elbow.

After several long minutes, Frerin slowly pulled her upright again and broke off the kiss to press his forehead against hers. “Well, that answers that question at least.”

“What question?” Bilba asked.

His lips quirked in a slightly self-deprecating expression. “Whether you still wanted me or not.”

Bilba’s eyes widened. “How can you even say that? Of course I still want you!”

He chuckled. “You say that, and yet you’re the literal embodiment of winter while I’m–” here he straightened to hold his arms out to his side to indicate his clothing and room – “basically a stable hand. Your predecessor married royalty.”

“I don’t want royalty.” Bilba grabbed his tunic and tugged him back in close again. “I just want you.” Her voice wobbled on the last and she suddenly blurted, “Lobelia said–”

She snapped her mouth shut on the last. Frerin grabbed her hands, tugged them free of his shirt and pulled her arms back around his neck. He wrapped both of his arms around her waist and pulled her in close. “What did she say?”

“That you went on a date,” Bilba said softly. “You went ice skating and that you had been dating, and you had said you wanted to talk to me when I got back–”

He let out breath and hugged her suddenly, tight. He buried his face against her shoulder and for several long second simply held her. Finally, he pulled back and lightly kissed her. “There was a group of us that went, a large group. She was there but I was no more on a date with her than I was with Kili or Thorin or anyone else that was there.” He frowned and his voice grew softer. “Sweetheart, you know better than to listen to her. What’s going on?”

Bilba shook her head. “I never asked for this,” she whispered, her throat tightening. “I don’t know why the magic chose me, but it did and now we never see each other and you’re here all alone and–”

“And more than content to wait for you,” Frerin cut in gently. His lips thinned. “Your family didn’t accept you, did they?”

Bilba flinched and looked down. Slowly she shook her head. “They said–” She took a shaky breath and tried again. “They said such horrible things,” she said, her voice cracking on the very last word. She’d expected them to be excited, happy. Proud of her. Instead they’d been angry, belittling. They’d told her she didn’t deserve it, that she’d simply make a mess of it all. She opened her mouth to speak again, only to shake her head again as words failed her.

“Ah, Sweetheart.” Frerin wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

Bilba sucked in a sharp breath and buried her face against his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and dug her fingers into the back of his shirt.

They stayed like that a very long time.

Bilba finally pulled back, wordlessly accepting the handkerchief that Frerin handed her and using it to wipe her face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Frerin stood up straight again and absently put his hands on her legs, running his fingers lightly back and forth along the underside of her thighs. “You should just curse them with eternal winter and call it a day.”

Bilba let out a startled laugh. “Maybe.”

“No, maybe about it,” Frerin growled. “Next time I’m going with you, all right?”

Bilba nodded shakily and managed a weak smile. “All right.”

“All right,” Frerin repeated. He hesitated. “You have family here, you know. There’s no reason to go back and subject yourself to that.”

Bilba wrung the handkerchief in her hands where they lay in her lap. “What was it you wanted to speak to me about?”

It wasn’t entirely changing the subject, just redirecting it, especially since there was still a small part of her stomach that was tight with worry over what it was he wanted to say to her.

Frerin unexpectedly pulled one of her legs up, pressed a kiss to her kneecap and then went to his dresser. “I’d planned to do this differently, but now is as good a time as any.”

He turned and came back to her. Then, just before he reached the table, he suddenly dropped to one knee. “I’m _really_ bad at speeches,” he said with a lopsided grin. “So I’ll just get to the point.” He held out his hand, and there was a ring pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Bilba Baggins, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Bilba sucked in a sharp gasp. Then she carefully inched her way forward, dropped off the side of the table and fell to her knees in front of him. The ring he held was beautiful, sapphire and diamond shaped into a cluster of flowers on a silver band. “Did you make this?”

“That I did,” Frerin said. He grinned at her. “What do you say? Want to be Bilba Durin instead of Bilba Baggins?”

Bilba made eye contact and, with a suddenly shy, smile nodded. “I would, very much so.”

His entire face relaxed into one of relief. She lifted her hand and he slid the ring on before dragging her forward to kiss her again. Bilba bracketed his face with her hands and kissed him back before sagging against him.

Frerin got to his feet, pulling her with him, and then guided her over to sit on the edge of his bed. “Why don’t you stay in here and rest for awhile? I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Bilba nodded. She did feel tired. The blizzard might have been a response to her emotions, but it had still relied on her power to hold its strength. “Do you promise to wake me up in time for tonight?”

Frerin knelt and grabbed her hands, thumb lightly tracing over her ring. “Yeah. I will.”

Bilba nodded. “I’m sorry for causing such a fuss.”

“It’s all right.” Frerin brushed back a strand of hair from her face and stood back as she lay back and curled on to her side. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Bilba nodded and closed her eyes.

She was asleep almost immediately.

***

“Are you sure we should wake her up?”

Frerin rolled his eyes at Kili as they walked down the corridor. “Unless you want Gandalf delivering presents without any way of clearing the weather then yes.”

Kili frowned. “I’m just saying if she’s still upset…”

“She’s fine,” Frerin said shortly. “Relax.”

They reached his room and he carefully opened the door. Bilba was still in his bed, curled on her side. She looked impossibly small like that and Frerin repeated the promise to himself that he was going to kill her idiot relatives for the way they treated her. Gandalf already intended to leave them all with a big heaping bag of coal, which was a good start.

Frerin sank onto the bed beside her and shook her arm gently. “Come on, Sweetheart, time to get up.”

Bilba muttered and rolled away from him. Frerin tried to wake her up again, only to have her weakly slap at his hands. “Noooo, go away.”

He chuckled and carefully rolled her onto her back. He slid his arms under her and, in one smooth motion, lifted her. She grumbled, wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his neck.

“Let’s go,” Frerin said to Kili.

He nodded and they headed out into the corridor. As they did, Bilba mumbled and then lifted her head to rest it on her arm, eyes open and staring hazily at the wall. Frerin hefted her higher in his arms and she yawned before wiggling slightly. “I can walk, put me down.”

Frerin stopped and obeyed, wrapping his arms around her for a few seconds until she got her bearings. Once she had Bilba absently raised her arms and a swirl of magic raced around her from foot to crown of head, leaving her refreshed and put together in its passing.

She slid her hand into his with a shy smile and Frerin grinned back, intertwining their fingers and tightening their grip.

Together they headed out where everyone was already gathered to see Gandalf off. He was in the center of the group, seated in his sleigh with the reindeer readied before him.

Around them all were mounds upon mounds of snow and Bilba cringed slightly at the sight of it all.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly to Gandalf as she approached. “I let my emotions get the best of me.”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “It’s quite all right, my dear. We are all more than our titles, are we not?” He nodded at her hand. “I see congratulations are in order.”

Bilba flushed and nodded happily.

“About bloody time,” someone who sounded a lot like Dwalin muttered from somewhere in the crowd.

Bilba took a deep breath. “Would it be all right if Frerin came with us?”

She felt Frerin start next to her and wrapped her free hand around his arm.

“I don’t see why not,” Gandalf said indulgently. He lifted the reins, waiting for her.

Bilba gave Frerin a nervous look. “Do you want to go with us?”

Frerin’s eyes positively lit up. “Absolutely.”

“Okay.” Bilba tugged him forward and allowed him to help her onto the bench seat behind Gandalf. He joined her and she curled against him, relaxing as he wrapped an arm around her.

The sleigh lifted slowly, pulling upwards into the sky, along with Frerin, they waved as the crowds diminished below them.

“I’m going to go back to sleep,” she mumbled, snuggling into Frerin even harder. “Wake me when we hit bad weather.”

Frerin kissed her on top of the head and pulled her in closer. “I will.”

Bilba smiled and sighed in contentment. Though the day hadn’t started well, it couldn’t have ended any better.

Well, she supposed it could have if she’d had a chance to short sheet Lobelia’s bed before they’d left. Still, the night was young, and she was nothing if not resourceful.

She _was_ Jack Frost after all.


End file.
